


An Exchange of Numbers

by angelsdemonsducks



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Red Hood: Lost Days, Supernatural, Under the Red Hood
Genre: Gen, I Don't Even Know, Jason meets the Winchesters, Jason needs a hug, Light Angst, Now With A Second Chapter, Past Character Death, Resurrected Jason Todd, So do the Winchesters, and they bond a little, jason and sam are helping each other with issues, let's have a crossover, over mutual badassery, spn and dc exist in the same universe, there's a ghost too, yay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-06
Updated: 2016-06-19
Packaged: 2018-05-24 23:46:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6171569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelsdemonsducks/pseuds/angelsdemonsducks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jason has met a lot of strange people in both his lives. So, really, the fact that monster hunters are a thing isn’t all that surprising to him.</p><p>(Aka the one where Jason meets the Winchesters.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Currently have a bad case of writer’s block on my WIP, so here, have a thing. Set during S3 for the Winchesters and during Lost Days for Jason. Let’s just pretend the timelines actually match, shall we? :)

Something outside howls, and Jason smiles.

“Listen to them, the children of the night,” he whispers to the air. “What music they make.” The quote brings back old memories, of an old man who liked books as much as he did, of hours spent searching for the best, oldest editions they could find, of happiness and finally belonging and  _ thisismyhome. _

He pushes the thoughts away. That was a long time ago.

He crosses the cold floor to the window, in time to see a flash of lightning, a rumble of thunder in the distance. He counts five seconds between the two. The lightning illuminates the motel parking lot, if only for a moment. It is enough to count three cars, besides his motorcycle. This isn’t a very popular place, it seems, and that is just fine by him. He’s not looking to be noticed, especially not after that stunt he pulled in London.

He’ll start drawing attention to himself soon enough. But not here, and not now. He has the Joker’s location now, and he absolutely refuses to get caught before he can put the clown six feet under.

Lightning cracks against the sky once again, and he only has time to count to three before the thunder follows. Getting closer, then, he thinks, and sighs. He likely wouldn’t have slept tonight, storm or no; this is just a convenient excuse to be up and about. He turns from the window and exits the room, only stopping to grab a knife and a gun from his duffle. He may be in the Middle Of Nowhere, USA, but that doesn’t mean he’s stopping to take any chances. 

He wanders down the hall almost aimlessly, running his hand against the wall. He counts the dark doors that he passes: one, two, three, four, fi- huh. That one’s occupied. He stops to stare at it for a moment, recalling the few other cars in the lot. Apparently, he isn’t the only one with insomnia tonight. Vaguely, he wonders who they are, what they’re doing in a slum like this, what their story has been so far to lead them here.

And as if reading his mind, the door bursts open. Jason jumps out of the way, and it’s just as well that he does, since the two men that burst out of the room don’t look like they’d have moved out of the way for him. He stares after them for a moment, lifting an eyebrow. They’re running like they’ve got the Flash himself after them, and that’s… wait a moment. It’s only for a second or two, but he’s sure he sees guns tucked into their waistlines. 

_ Hm. Interesting. So, they’re either running to commit murder or running to prevent one. _

Either way, they are certainly worth following. So Jason does.

It begins to rain as soon as he steps outside, as if it were waiting for this. He growls and glares at the sky, but continues to his bike. They’re pulling out now -and  _ goddamn _ is that one gorgeous car- and if he wants to keep up, he doesn’t have time to grab a jacket. Not that he has a good one anyway. 

The keys turn in the ignition, and the motor starts up with a low purr. He grins, sharp and fierce, and slams the gas, roaring onto the road with an immense feeling of satisfaction. He has never been the sedentary type, and there’s nothing that gets his heart pumping like a good old-fashioned high speed chase. Because that’s definitely what this is. The speeds these guys are going at are definitely illegal, especially at this time of night.

It’s funny, but with the wind and rain in his hair, and the pavement passing underneath him like water, this almost reminds him of-

_ Nope, _ he cuts himself off.  _ Not going there. Eyes on the prize, Todd.  _

The car in front of him makes a sharp right, and he does the same. He recognizes this road; they’re headed into town, whatever this town is called. He didn’t bother to check on his way in, and he certainly isn’t going to bother now. 

Minutes pass, he’s sure, before the car stops, but they are lost in the blur of icy needles of rain stinging his cheeks and the smell of burning rubber on asphalt. All he knows is that they are now in the suburbs, or what qualifies for suburbs in a tiny town like this, and he has to slam on the brakes to stop a reasonable distance away. He doesn’t manage to cut his lights before they clamber out of the car, and for a moment, he thinks he’s been seen, but they rush up to a house on the block like nothing else matters. They don’t even bother to knock; they kick the door open like it’s a practiced movement, tugging out their guns as they walk inside. Jason is quick to follow, sprinting across the muddy yard and pulling out his .22. Maybe they’re here to help someone, maybe the opposite, but one thing is clear: they are not playing around.

He reaches the front door in record time, but before he can step across the threshold, there is a loud clatter, and a shout. A young, feminine shout, and Jason curses. Now he’s definitely glad he brought the gun. Raising it, he charges inside.

He is not prepared for what greets him.

It’s a living room, or what used to be one, he thinks. The furniture is strewn everywhere, half of it broken, and everything glass has been shattered. The two men are there, as is the woman he heard, but there is a fourth, an older woman who looks like she just crawled out of her grave (and he would know). As he watches, stunned for a moment, she sort of… flickers forward in a lurch and waves her hand. One of the two men, the taller one, goes flying across the room. Jason suppresses a curse.

He knows what’s going on here.

Supernatural entities are relatively rare, or so Batman told him, but there have been a few severe cases that the League got called in to take care of. So, Jason was taught just enough to know that whatever this is, it’s not a woman anymore, and regular bullets aren’t going to do shit. 

The second of the men seems to be putting up a fight, so he takes a few seconds to look for something that might actually be of use. His gaze lights on a metal rod; for a moment, he thinks it’s a crowbar, and he freezes, but then he sees that it’s a poker stick.

An iron one.

_ Iron. Okay. Isn’t that supposed to hurt ghosts and shit? _

Only one way to find out.

Without hesitating, he takes two steps, grabbing the poker in one and swinging it with the next. His aim is true, and is goes right through the thing’s midsection. Not entirely to his surprise, it dissolves with a screech. He meets the man’s startled eyes. 

“I’ve got things covered here,” he snaps. “Go kill this thing.”

To his credit, the man only spares him a moment before darting from the room. Jason tracks his progress, paying close attention to his surroundings. “You okay?” he asks the young woman, without looking at her.

Unsurprisingly, she does not respond. She’s too busy cowering on the floor. He supposes he can’t blame her.

Across the room, the other guy moans and struggles to a sitting position, hand pressed gingerly against his head. “Ugh, Dean, are you-” They lock eyes, and his widen. “Behind you!” he exclaims, and Jason does not hesitate to whip his poker around, banishing the creature (ghost?) for a second time. 

“Hey, how long will this take?” he demands, scanning the room again. The hairs stand up on the back of his neck, and he barely turns in time to take it out again.

“I don’t know,” the guy says, standing and leaning on the wall for support. “We salted the wrong thing, but Dean knows what to look for.” He backs against the wall, eyes darting around continuously, vigilance that Jason approves of. The gun is steady in his hand, though Jason honestly doesn’t know what he thinks a gun will do against something like this.

The thing appears again. The guy shoots at it, and it disintegrates.

Well. Okay. That answers that.

“Can I get one of those?” he asks, eyeing the gun. The other guy laughs briefly.

“Just rock salt bullets, man. You’re a hunter without knowing about them?”

Hunter. Interesting. Jason files the term away for future reference. The way this guy talks, it seems like this might actually be what these these guys do for a living. Not, of course, that he can judge.

Then, he is flung against the wall. He would curse, but the wind seems to be knocked out of him. The thing, ghost, whatever the hell it is, is right in front of him, looking positively murderous. It flickers closer and makes a gesture with its hand… and suddenly he can’t breath. It’s the coffin all over again, and as much as he struggles, he can’t escape the force that has him pinned. Vaguely, he sees the other guy on the opposite wall, struggling for breath, but at the moment, he’s more concerned with himself. If he doesn’t free himself soon, he’ll die all over again, and he’ll be damned if he lets that happen before he can confront the Joker. Batman. Either, both, it doesn’t matter.

_ LetmegoletmegoIcan’tfuckingbreatheletGO- _

And then, the thing screams and lurches backward. Jason collapses to the floor, coughing, and watches as the thing goes up in flames that seem to come out of nowhere. There is not so much as ash left; only a faint scent of burning signifies that it was ever there at all.

The other guy sits up with an obvious effort. “You okay?” he asks, voice breathy.

Jason nods. “Just peachy,” he mutters, rubbing at his chest. The feeling of being suffocated again is something that will haunt his dreams for the next few nights, but he’ll make it through. He always does.

The guy grins. “That’s good,” he says, like he honestly cares. “We didn’t know there was another hunter working this case.”

“Right. Sure,” he replies, and decides to go with honesty on this one. “What the hell’s a hunter?”

And as the second guy comes back into the room, and the first stares at him in incredulity, he gets the feeling that his night isn’t nearly over yet.

* * *

 

Their names, he learns after helping them tidy up and calming the almost-victim down, are Sam and Dean Winchester. Yes, like the serial killers. Only, apparently they are not serial killers, but monster hunters. If they had said this to him a year or two ago, Jason might not have believed them, but after what he’s been through, he’s a hell of a lot more open-minded than he once was.

“So, you guys seriously do this for a living?” he asks, following them out to their car. For a moment, his brain short-circuits, because  _ damn.  _ He admired it from far away, but up close, this is a work of art. He’s not saying he would choose this over the Batmobile, but… well, he probably would, actually.

“Wow,” he says. “Loving the wheels.”

Dean, the older and shorter one, grins. “1967 Chevy Impala,” he boasts. “She’s my Baby.”

Jason nods in understanding.

“To answer your question, though, yeah, this is what we do for a living,” Dean continues. “Doesn’t exactly pay very well, but we get by on hustling and stuff like that.”

“And credit card fraud, I’m sure,” Jason adds wryly.

“And if that’s the case?” Sam the Sasquatch adds. Jason frowns at his tone and looks at him. His gaze is sharp and wary, and… damn. He must have him figured out. A random guy, who just happens to have a skill set that could help them, showing up in the middle of their hunt? Not likely. Some sort of vigilante on the other hand…

“Guys like you have been hiding from guys like the Justice League for a long time, haven’t you?” he asks, and by the way they both stiffen, he can tell that it’s true. “This is your life, and you don’t want their interference or their help. You’re even willing to be named serial killers and go to prison to avoid that.” And that is something that he can definitely respect.

“Sorry, but who exactly are you again?” Dean demands, fire flashing in his eyes. He steps slightly in front of Sam, a big-brother move if he’s ever seen one. He waits for a moment, sizes them up. If it were to come down to a fight, he could probably take both of them, but it would be hard. In skill, they’re lacking compared to him, but they make up for that with pure determination.

Not, of course, that he wants to let it get to a fight.

“Relax,” he says, raising his hands in the universal gesture for peace. “The name’s Jason Todd. I’m no friend to the League. Haven’t been for a long time. I’m not a bad guy,” he hastens to add at their faces.

“You are a vigilante though,” Sam states.

He shrugs. “Guilty, though it’s not like you’ll have heard of me.” Not what he’s going by now, anyway, and there’s no way he’s bringing up his past. Too many skeletons in that closet. “I don’t exactly play with the big boys.”

At that, Dean scoffs, and abruptly steps around the car to the driver’s side, muttering something about heroes “never being around when you need ‘em.” Jason can’t fault him for that. It’s mostly true. Sam gives him an apologetic look.

“Uh, sorry about him. We’ve never really gotten along with heroes either, so…” He trails off with a shrug. “We should probably be getting on the road now, but, uh… here.” He takes a notebook and a pen out of a jacket pocket and scribbles something down, tearing the paper out and handing it to him. “Our number. In case you ever encounter anything else like this.”

“Right.” Jason takes it and stares at the messy number sequence. He likely won’t ever call, but he thinks he likes these two well enough, so he might keep the number anyway. “Sure. Thanks.”

Sam smiles and holds out his hand. Jason takes it. They shake briefly, and then Sam is moving away, stepping into the car.

Jason hesitates, an idea striking him. It probably wouldn’t be very smart, seeing as he’s only just met these two, but there’s something about them that he relates to. Maybe it’s the look in Dean’s eyes like he’s waiting for an anvil to be dropped on him, or the way that they seem to trust each other completely in a way that he hasn’t been able to trust anyone in a long time. Either way, it’s drawing him in, and he decides not to resist for once.

“Here,” he says, grabbing the notebook from Sam. “Here’s my number too.” One of many, anyway, but he supposes he’ll keep this disposable cell phone charged from now on. “Call if you need a crack shot, or a shoulder to cry on, et cetera. Or if you meet a lady named Talia. Definitely call if that happens. But, uh…” He thrusts the notebook back at him and steps back.  _ Damn, not very good at the whole social interaction thing anymore, are you, Jay? _ The voice sounds like Dick, and he tells it to shut up. In his defense, it has been a while since he talked to someone who wasn’t either the scum of the earth or trying to manipulate him.

Sam smiles. “Thanks, man. We’ll keep that in mind.”

“Right. See ya around, then, I guess.”

Sam gives him a wave and another smile, and Dean gives him a nod, and then the engine is revving and the Winchesters are speeding off into the night, leaving him in their dust.

“Like a bat out of hell,” he mutters, and goes to grab his motorbike, wondering if it’s too early to check out of the motel.

After all, the Joker won’t kill himself.

* * *

 

And so it is that months later, after the Joker and Hush and all of the baggage that came with them, when Jason is ready to put his final plans in motion and wreak havoc on the Batman, he gets a phone call, and Sam Winchester is on the other end.

“Uh, hey man. What’s up?” he asks, because Sam… does not sound good.

“Jason. Hey,” he says, he and gives a shaky little laugh that sets alarm bells ringing. “Sorry if this is a bad time, but I kind of needed to talk to someone.”

“No, no, not a bad time at all,” he replies, even though he’s in the middle of a stakeout and it kind of is. “What’s wrong?”

There is only static on the other end of the line for a moment. And then: “Dean’s gone,” he says, and his voice is so full of pain that Jason winces. “I… everyone… they all mean well, but I don’t… I mean…”

“You don’t want pity right now,” Jason guesses. Right. Okay. No pity. That’s something he can do. “You want me to come?” he offers, scowling as the words leave his mouth. Where had that come from? It’s not like he knows the guy.

But he knows all too well what it’s like to have the world ripped out from under your feet. He knows what it’s like to lose the only family you’ve got.

There is another long pause. “Uh… I mean…” He laughs again, and Jason’s frown deepens. He stares at the docks, at the shipment that’s just about to arrive. This would be a fantastic way to announce his presence in Gotham, but… 

Damn it. He’s getting too soft.

“Nevermind, don’t answer that. Where are you?”

“Uh, Sioux Falls, South Dakota, but-”

“Don’t go anywhere.” He flips the phone shut and takes another look at the docks.

Another day, then. Batman will still be here when he returns.

And so it is that the Red Hood’s reign is over before it begins. He abandons Gotham in the dead of night, and none mark his passing.

Batman doesn’t realize he was there at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The quote that Jason uses in the beginning is, if anyone was wondering, from Dracula, because Jason is a literature buff.
> 
> I’ll most likely write more for this, though I can’t promise it’ll be soon. Until then, I hope you enjoyed. :)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tried out a new format for this one. 25 drabbles, not in chronological order, written for prompts chosen at random. Hope you like! :)

**Get Up**

Mornings aren’t difficult for either of them. Sam is used to rising with the dawn at the latest, and Jason always seems to be awake before he is. So, this is a rare sight: Jason, sound asleep, sprawled across his bed in a haphazard tangle of limbs and sheets. Sam watches him for a moment. It might be a good idea to let him sleep; he certainly doesn’t seem to get much, and Sam’s fairly certain that he has nightmares. Peaceful sleep must be rare for him.

Sam chucks a pillow at his head. “Rise and shine,” he says.

Jason’s head goes up, and he blinks blearily. “Fuck you,” he mumbles sleepily, running a hand across his face. He almost literally rolls out of bed and in the direction of the bathroom. Sam doesn’t stop him.

The hunt never stops; there’s no time for sleeping in. But he can give the kid first shower at least.

 

**Wired**

Sam stares at him. “Dude, how much coffee have you had?”   


Jason stares back, wide-eyed, hands trembling ever so slightly. “Uh, five cups now? Maybe six? Kinda lost track. Why, you want some?”

Sam sighs and shakes his head, a smile tugging on the corners of his mouth. Jason reminds him of himself when he was younger, maybe a little too much for his own good. He was always staying up late to finish the research, to finish figuring it all out. It seems that Jason has the same kind of drive.

“Okay, you’re being cut off,” he states. “You’re going to get caffeine poisoning or something like that.”

Jason frowns and cocks his head, making the shadows play about his face. Sam notes the heavy bags under his eyes. “Caffeine poisoning? Is that even a thing?” he asks, but allows himself to be pointed toward bed.

It is only a few hours later, after Jason has finally fallen asleep, that Sam allows the smile to spread across his face, the first genuine one in a while.

 

**Rest**

“You’re serious?” Jason asks. “Nothing today? At all?”

Sam shrugs. “We’ve hit a dead end on the latest lead,” he says, “and there aren’t any hunts anywhere near here. A break would be good for both of us.”  _ Especially for you,  _ he is careful not to say, as he knows he wouldn’t appreciate it.

The truth is, Sam doesn’t want to stop, even if they don’t have a clear place to go next. Every moment they waste is another moment Dean is languishing in hell, and Sam is almost overwhelmed by guilt at the thought of making him spend more time suffering down there just because he needs a break. If it were only him, if he were traveling alone, he would press on until he collapsed from exhaustion, he knows.

But he is not on his own. Jason is with him, Jason who came when he called despite barely knowing him, Jason who clearly has a lot of baggage of his own, Jason who, for all his tough exterior and weary eyes, is still only eighteen years old. He can drive himself into the ground without any problems, but Jason? Jason is here to help him, not to follow him on his path of self-destruction, so Sam is going to make damn sure he doesn’t drag him down with him.

And if that means taking a day off? So be it.

 

**Done**

“I am so fucking done with this shit,” Jason mutters, staring at the TV. Reception in this shitty excuse for a motel is spotty at best, but it’s good enough to tell what’s on: a newscast, providing live coverage of yet another attempted takeover of Metropolis. And there they are: the Justice League in all their glory, fighting  _ bravely  _ against the baddies like the fucking  _ heroes _ they are.

“What is it?” Sam asks from across the room, where he’s cleaning some of the guns. Jason turns to him, ready to rant, but he stops himself. Sam looks tired too, and he reminds himself that however bad he thinks his life is, at least he still has a few people to call on if he should need it. Sam had his brother, and now his brother is gone, their efforts to find a way to bring him back fruitless thus far, no demon willing to make a deal.

Jason would have given anything to have had such a good relationship with his brother. But that opportunity came and went, leaving only a handful of faded ‘what ifs’ and ‘if onlys.’

He likes Sam. He’s not going to let that happen to him if he can help it. 

Sam has enough problems as it is without him dumping all of his issues on the floor.

So he just shrugs. “Just the news. The world’s fucking screwed up,” he says, and turns back to the grainy images on the screen.

It only takes him another moment of scanning the footage to realize who he’s searching for, at which point he turns the TV off.

 

**Trouble**

Jason hates Ruby from the moment he lays eyes on her, and it’s not just the fact that she’s an evil demon. It’s the way she moves, the way she carries herself, like a shark that knows exactly where its next meal will come from. She waltzes in with her promises of power and vengeance on Lilith, whoever that is, and it’s obvious that she’s trying to manipulate Sam.

He makes his opinion on her very clear. She responds in turn. If she wasn’t lying and evil, Jason thinks they might have been able to be friends.

She leaves soon enough, and thank god for that, and Jason wheels on Sam immediately. “She’s lying to you. Whatever she wants, it isn’t to defeat this Lilith lady.”

Sam eyes him doubtfully, but doesn’t reject him outright. “How can you be sure?” he asks. “She’s been helpful before-”

But Jason shakes his head, cutting him off. “I know a liar when I see one. God knows I’ve been around enough of them. Whatever it is she wants you to do, it won’t help, I’m certain of that.”  _ Trust me on this one,  _ he doesn’t add, though he thinks Sam gets the point. Hesitantly, he nods.

“Alright,” he replies. “I’ll be careful.”

Jason sees right away that this isn’t the same thing as promising to stay away from her, but he’ll take what he can get. And keep an eye on Sam in the meantime; Ruby means nothing good, of that he is certain.

 

**Birthday**

Sam doesn’t know until about eight o’clock at night. When he finds out, he stops dead in his tracks and stares.

“It’s your birthday today?” he asks, surprised.

Jason shrugs, as if it’s no big deal. “Yup. ‘M nineteen now. Yippee.”

It’s the cynicism in his voice that really gets to Sam. Jason hasn’t told him very much about his past, and Sam can respect that. He hasn’t said very much about his past either. What Sam does know is that he is a vigilante and has been since he was young, with some sort of grudge against the Justice League and Batman in particular. He grew up fast, too fast, and that is something that reminds Sam very much of Dean. 

But still. To be only nineteen and have so little regard toward his own birthday. Sam remembers his nineteenth. He was at Stanford, surrounded by his friends, having a fantastic time. Dean even called to wish him a happy birthday, and-

The thought of his brother sends another pang of loss through him, and he derails that train of thought. 

“Nineteen’s an age to be proud of,” Sam says, unsure of what else to say. “You’ve made it this far.”

Jason starts laughing at that. Sam doesn’t know why.

 

**Naughty**

It’s eight in the morning when Jason suddenly stumbles into the motel room. His grin is a mile wide, and there is still a bit of lipstick on his left cheek, so Sam can imagine very well what he’s been up to. He knows he shouldn’t ask, but he can’t resist.

“Have fun last night?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

Jason’s grin widens even further. “Plenty.” He flops onto the unused bed, rumpling the covers. “The girl was good, but the guy was even better. He did this thing with his tongue-”

“Uh, okay, no, I don’t want to hear about it.” Sam is very much regretting asking now. He does not need to know this thank you very much.

Jason sticks out his tongue. “But you asked if I had fun!” he complains. “Oh, wait, I get it, you’re jealous that you can’t get any.”

That is such a Dean thing to say that Sam almost opens his mouth to call him a jerk. Almost; he stops himself with a firm reminder that Jason is not his brother and he is not a replacement for his brother either. But Jason seems to take his silence as a concession. 

“Heh. Well, you ever want a hot threesome, let me know,” he says. “I can get you hooked up with some people.”

Sam throws a pillow at his face and decidedly does not mention what he and Ruby were doing in here just last night.

 

**Letter**

_ Dean, _

_ It’s been about a month, and it’s still hard to believe you’re not here. I keep looking over my shoulder, expecting to see you, just like always. But when I do, you’re not, and it hurts. _

_ Jason has been sticking around even longer than I expected he would. I told you about him, right? He’s a good kid. A little rough, but good. He reminds me of you a lot. I think you two will either hate each other or be best friends. He’s watching TV as I write this, one of those procedural cop shows you hate so much. He’s having fun pointing out all the inaccuracies. I’m really glad he’s here, to be honest. It’s easier for me to stop and take a breather when I know that I’m not doing this by myself. _

_ Ruby’s been hanging out more and more. I don’t trust her, but I think she might actually be able to help. Jason hates her though, so I think it might be better to take things slow in the alliance department. _

_ I think I might be making a little progress. I’ll have you out of there soon, Dean, hang in there. _

_ -Sam _

 

**Stop Time**

For a moment, everything freezes. Jason can’t breathe. The whole world has stopped turning, all except for him and the man walking on the other side of the street. 

Common sense retakes its hold after a moment, and he clutches at Sam’s arm. “We need to leave,” he breathes in response to his questioning look. “Right now. Seriously.”

Sam frowns at him. “What is it?” he asks, following Jason’s gaze.

“Whatever’s going on in this town, someone else can deal with it,” he replies. “We need to leave.”

Sam looks like he wants to ask a million questions, but he restrains himself, thankfully, allowing himself to be led back to the motel where they pack up as quickly as possible. Jason doesn’t let himself relax until they’re twenty miles out with no sign of pursuit. He hadn’t thought that Dick saw him, but he couldn’t take any chance. He may look different from the kid he used to be, but that would fall apart under any close scrutiny, and staying in the same town as Dick fucking Grayson would have been asking for trouble.

He doesn’t know why Dick was there. He doesn’t care. What he does know is that a confrontation with him could end in disaster, and Jason is not willing to take that risk.

 

**Verbal**

One thing that Sam has noted about Jason is that when he gets angry, he shouts. Loudly and profusely. He would be surprised if the entire motel wasn’t awake at this point.

“You can’t be fucking serious!” he is yelling. “I can’t fucking believe you! What did I say about her, huh? You can’t fucking trust a fucking evil demon! What the fuck, Sam? I thought you were fucking smarter than that!”

Another thing Sam has noted about Jason is that when he gets angry, the amount of profanity he uses increases exponentially.

Ruby stopped by today, saving their asses on a hunt they hadn’t quite been prepared for. While she was there, it came out that she had been over far more often than Jason thought, which led to this explosion. 

“I don’t trust her,” Sam argues. “I don’t trust her at all, but, Jason, I think we might need her to take down Lilith.”

Jason glares, and for a moment, his eyes look completely green. They are teal again a moment later, so Sam figures he must have imagined it. “Lilith this, Lilith that,” he growls, his voice a good octave lower than it usually is. “That’s all I’ve been hearing from you lately. We need to take down Lilith. What about your brother, Sam? Aren’t we supposed to be rescuing him?”

Anger rises in him like a snake about to strike. “If anyone would know how to get Dean out of hell, it’s her,” Sam states. “What the hell would you know about this anyway? Do you even have a brother, Jason?”

Jason’s face closes off, and Sam knows immediately that he has tread on forbidden ground. “Not anymore,” he grits out, flopping down on one of the beds and turning to face the wall. He doesn’t speak for the rest for the night.

 

**Wartime**

Sam should have known. He should have  _ known _ , damn it, known from the glint in Jason’s eyes, the glint that has been present since he woke up this morning. 

_ It’s not your fault,  _ he tries to tell himself.  _ You couldn’t have anticipated this. Calm down. Breathe. _

And yet, as he sits here, covered in takeout Chinese food, he is finding it very difficult to remain unruffled.

“Dude,” he states. “What. The hell.”

Jason grins at him from across the table, fork poised to toss more food at the drop of a hat. “You looked like you were thinking too hard,” he says. “I think I’ve rectified that, though, don’t worry.”

“Have you now.”

Jason flicks another grain of rice at him. It lands on his cheek, and he resists the urge to brush it off. “Oh yes,” the teenager replies. “C’mon, you’ve got to admit this takeout is shit.”

Sam sighs.

All in all, it’s the most enjoyable food fight he’s had in a long, long time, even if Jason does win.

 

**Rule**

For all that they are becoming friends, there is a rule between them. It is an unspoken rule, but it is no less present because of that.

_ Don’t pry. _

If the conversation looks like it’s heading into dangerous territory, change the subject. Unless the other is clearly okay with it, do not ask about his past. And above all, respect the other’s boundaries. Don’t push.

They manage to keep to this rule most of the time. Still, Sam can’t help but feel curious about the other. As the days go by, he is becoming more and more certain that he has heard the name Jason Todd before.

 

**Mercy**

“Jason!”

Jason ignores Sam. He is razor-focused, rage buzzing through him and almost making him shake with the force of it.

“Please! Don’t-” the man pleads, and his grip on the his neck tightens. This man, this  _ witch _ , has done too much. Sam is on the ground several meters away, and so it’s up to Jason now, up to him to make sure that this man can never hurt anyone else again. The photos from the crime scene are still fresh in his mind. Four little girls, the oldest not yet ten, lying side by side, having choked on their own blood. And all because this bastard couldn’t handle the fact that his ex-wife had won custody.

“There’s a name for people like you,” Jason hisses, pressing the iron he’s holding even more firmly against the man’s side. “ _ Monster. _ ”

“I- I- I, please, I’m sorry, I won’t do it again, if you’ll just let me go, I’ll-”

Jason snorts. “Yeah, right. You’ll what?” He leans in close. “We both know you’re not sorry at all, so what’s the point?”

The man changes tactics. “I’ve got powerful allies,” he threatens, though it is so obviously a bluff. “When they find out you’ve killed me, they’ll come down on you! They’ll make you wish you’d never been born! They’ll make you scream before they kill-”

“No, they won’t. You wanna know why?” He smiles, all teeth. “I’ve been killed by far scarier men than you. You wouldn’t last a day in Gotham City.”

“M-m-mercy! Have mercy, please! I’m begging you-”

A deft movement, and the man’s neck snaps, his face still frozen in mortal terror. Jason allows the body to slump to the floor, and he drops the iron bar beside it. The rage starts to drain away, and he suddenly feels worn. Behind him, he hears Sam clambering to his feet, feels his considering gaze on his back. 

“I gave all of my mercy away a long time ago,” he whispers, though he’s not sure who it’s directed at. If Sam hears him, he gives no sign.

 

**Harm**

Curiosity killed the cat. He knows this. He  _ knows _ this, damn it, and yet, he can’t stop himself. So when one day he finally gives in, he tells himself that he’s only satisfying his curiosity. That’s all. He won’t bring it up in conversation, he won’t confront Jason about it. He just wants to know more about him. What harm could it do?

It starts with a rudimentary Google search. It’s only when Sam starts the read the articles it brings up that he realises what a mistake he’s made.

Jason Todd, adopted son of millionaire Bruce Wayne. It is definitely a younger Jason’s face grinning cheerfully at the camera, but that isn’t what makes Sam sick to his stomach.

Jason Todd, dead at fifteen years old.

Sam clears his browsing history and closes his laptop.

What the hell is he supposed to do with this?

 

**Disclosure**

They thought it was a ghost.

As it turns out, it was the start of the latest alien invasion. And now they are trapped in their motel room, hiding from the Justice League. Jason in particular is on edge, glancing at the closed window blinds every five seconds. They retreated in a hurry once they realised this wasn’t their sort of things, but maybe it wasn’t fast enough. Maybe a League member got a look at him, maybe they’ll be mentioned to the others, maybe  _ he’ll _ find out-

“My dad was a dick,” Sam says, and Jason blinks, because where did that come from? He sends the other man a look, but Sam only shrugs. “He dragged me and my brother on his revenge quest for my mom. Dean was four, I was a baby.”

“That sucks,” he replies. What else can he say?

Sam laughs. “Yeah. Dean raised me more than Dad ever did. I’m lucky to have a brother like him.”

There is an odd tone to his voice… guilt? Jason frowns. “Why are you telling me this?” he asks, because after a few months of living with the guy, he knows that Sam doesn’t talk about anyone from his past  _ except _ Dean.

The man sighs, running a hand over his face. “I googled you,” he admits. “I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t have. But,” he continues, meeting Jason’s eyes, his expression open and entreating, “if you want to talk about anything, I’m here. You can trust me.”

Anger flares, but it vanishes a moment later, replaced with a sense of inevitability. He’d expected Sam to find out eventually, of course. Sam wants to know about everything; that’s just the kind of person he is.

And oddly enough, Jason finds that he doesn’t mind.

“I trust you,” he replies, releasing as he says it that it’s true. He smiles wryly, shaking his head.

“When I was a kid…”

 

**Murmur**

“Damn you.”

Her voice is no louder than a whisper, a thin thread of a sound, and Jason watches the light go out from her eyes, he could not be happier. It had been almost too easy to take her down, to get her knife away from her and stab her with it, but he is not about to complain. He looks up from the corpse, meeting Sam’s eyes.

“I told you she couldn’t be trusted,” he states. “She had too much power over you, couldn’t you see that?”

Sam glares at him, refusing to answer. Jason shrugs, ignoring the way his anger feels like a knife wound. If Sam wants to be stubborn, fine. If he wants to hate him,  _ fine _ . But they’re both better off in the long run without Ruby breathing down their necks.

 

**Graveyard Shift**

“Fuck this shit.”

Another thing that Sam has noted about Jason is that he does not like manual labor. Give him a thousand creatures to stab and he will kill them all, but give him a shovel-

“How the hell is this my life?”

-and be prepared to put up with the consequences.

“This isn’t that hard,” he informs him. “The ground is relatively soft here. It should only take a few more minutes, less if we’re both helping.” That last part is accompanied by a pointed look, but Jason glares right back.

“This sucks ass,” he says eloquently. Sam shrugs.

“It’s for the greater good,” he replies. “Hey, think of it this way. At least you’re not digging out of this one.”

He expects the stream of profanities. He has to react quickly to dodge the shovel.

 

**Nightmare**

When he wakes to the sound of a scream, at first he thinks it is coming from him. It wouldn’t be the first time, though Sam tends to wake him up before it gets to that. But no, his mouth is closed, and the voice that is bouncing off the walls of the room does not belong to him. This alone is cause for alarm; there is only one other person in this room. He sits up, his gaze falling on the other bed. Sam is thrashing in his sheets, gasping for breath, and Jason suddenly feels so, so out of his depth. He’s never had to do this before. 

But he can’t leave Sam to suffer through whatever he’s seeing. That much is obvious.

Jason rolls out of bed, the floor icy cold against his bare feet. He crouches by Sam’s bed, laying a hand on his shoulder to shake him. “Sam!” he calls. “Sam, wake up!” He mentally curses. He really isn’t very good at this.

But Sam is a light sleeper. He wakes up after a few more moments, staring blearily into Jason’s general direction. “Dean?” he asks, and Jason winces, because no, that’s not… what the hell is he supposed to do right now!

“Sorry,” he says. “Jason. You were having a nightmare.”

Sam’s eyes finally focus on him. “Oh,” he says, his voice low and throaty. “Right. Sorry.”

Jason shakes his head. “No problem,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “If you, uh, if you want to, uh, talk or anything-”

“No, it’s alright. Thanks.” Sam gives a wane smile, tugging at the covers until he is no longer tied up in them. Jason goes back to his own bed with no small sense of relief, though he knows that he won’t be able to fall back to sleep for quite some time.

He is on the cusp, in that twilight between sleep and wakefulness, when Sam speaks again. “It’s my fault he’s down there, you know,” he whispers, and his voice sounds so miserable that Jason is jerked right back to awareness. “It’s my fault.”

“He wouldn’t want you to blame yourself,” Jason replies. The way Sam talks about his brother, he’s sure it’s not a lie. “Get some sleep, Sam,” he adds on. Sam doesn’t reply, so he assumes he’s taking his advice.

Neither of them talk about the incident in the morning, but it hangs between them nevertheless.

 

**Present**

Jason stares blankly at the object that has been thrust into his hand. “What the fuck is this?” he asks, tuning the stare on Sam, who resists the urge to roll his eyes.

“It  _ was _ your birthday yesterday, right?” he clarifies. “Happy birthday.”

J ason frowns at him, then turns his attention to the object in his hands. He rotates it, inspecting it from all angles. It is the best thing that Sam was able to find on short notice; really, he was lucky he was able to find anything at all. But he’d seen it in the corner store of the latest town and he hadn’t been able to resist, especially considering it was half-off.

Jason is still inspecting it. “You didn’t have to get me anything,” he says, as if the concept of receiving a gift on his birthday is completely foreign to him.

“I wanted to,” Sam insists. “Besides, it’s practical. Seriously, all those weapons and you don’t have a Swiss Army knife?”

That gets a laugh out of him, and he looks up from the knife with a smile in his eyes. “Because those make ghosts tremble in fear,” he says derisively. Sam can hear the gratitude hidden behind the tone. He shrugs.

“What are friends for?”

Jason stays silent for a moment, and Sam worries that he’s overstepped. Jason isn’t the type to trust quickly, he’s worked out that much at least, so maybe-

Then:

“Okay, but why the hell did you put a pink bow on it? Seriously, what the fuck even.”

And Sam knows he’s good.

 

**Sweeten**

Sam watches Jason with wide eyes. He’s actually starting to get a little worried.

“Jason?” he finally ventures.

Jason looks up. “What?” he asks, the picture of innocence.

Sam makes a helpless noise halfway between a snort and a whimper. He gestures at the coffee cup and the packet of sugar in Jason’s hands. “How many of those have you put in now?” he asks, though he already knows the answer. He’s been watching him pour sugar in for the past five minutes, and it’s gotten to the point where there’s probably more sugar than coffee in the mug.

Jason just shrugs. “I dunno. Seven or eight?” And as Sam watches, he dumps the packet he is holding into the cup as well, stirring it with his spoon. “Nine, now.”

Sam shakes his head. There are no words.

“What? I felt like something sweet!”

“Yeah, okay, but at this point I think you could just dump sugar into your mouth and have the same effect.”

He gets the empty sugar packet thrown at his head for that one, but it’s worth it.

 

**Rain**

It falls in a slow, grey drizzle, pooling in gutters and flowing across streets. Jason stands in the middle of the parking lot, allowing himself to get drenched at he watches the drops splatter down.

He senses Sam coming up behind him, but he doesn’t turn.

“It was raining, I think,” he says, his voice flat, “when I came back. I don’t remember much, just flashes, but I’m pretty sure there was a storm.” It’s the truth, though he remembers more than he lets on. He remembers waking in the coffin, banging on the lid, begging to be let out. He remembers using the buckle of his belt to dig his way out, remembers the way the dirt smelled as it fell on him in clumps, remembers the feeling of suffocation, of dirt in his lungs.

He remembers the way the rain felt when he finally broke the surface, the way it felt on his skin and washed away the earth, the way it smelled as he breathed for the first time in months.

There’s not much after that, of course. That’s where everything goes fuzzy and indistinct. But the rain… yes, he remembers the rain.

To his dying day, he thinks he will associate rain with freedom.

He turns. Sam is staring at him with an odd look on his face, and umbrella proffered i his right hand. Jason smiles and shakes his head, letting the droplets soak into his skin even as they walk back to the motel.

He has no use for umbrellas.

 

**Ink**

On the third week of their partnership, after Jason has made it very clear that no, he’s not going anywhere, and yes, Sam, I’m going to help you please stop being self-destructive like this, Sam sends him to a tattoo parlor.

You’ll need an anti-possession symbol, Sam explains, showing him his.

Jason has always wanted a tattoo. He goes with pleasure.

The woman doing the needlework raises her eyebrows when he takes off his shirt, her eyes tracing over all the scars, but she doesn’t comment, something for which he is grateful. She tattoos the symbol on his chest and asks if that will be all.

No, he says on a whim. Let’s do another.

She inks the red bird on his back, its wings outstretched, its head pointed toward the sky. What does it mean? she asks as she works.

Freedom, he replies, because he’s hoping that he will finally have it. 

Going to Gotham to kill him had felt right. But so does this, so does hunting with Sam, so does helping Sam get his brother back. So maybe it’s time for a new kind of revenge.

He will live his life the way he wants, with no influence from him and his. And if their paths cross, he will be able to show him, look, I don’t need you anymore. I never did. I can fly on my own now.

Look. I am free.

 

**Shortbread**

As a reward for getting rid of the poltergeist in her home, the bakery owner gives Sam some cookies. “To share with your friend,” she adds, as if he wouldn’t.

He nods and extracts himself from her gratitude.

“I’ve got cookies,” he announces as soon as he steps in the door, and Jason’s face lights up like the Fourth of July. 

“Give,” he demands, and Sam laughs and hands him the tin. “What kind?” he asks, tugging the lid off and looking at it closely, as if it’s going to reveal the secrets of the universe.

“Shortbread,” Sam answers, and then the cookie is in his mouth. The expression on his face becomes unreadable as he chews and swallows, and he doesn’t say anything as he takes another bite.

Sam takes a cookie for himself. It’s delicious. No reason for Jason to react adversely.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

Jason sighs and smiles sadly. “They taste like Al’s,” he replies, and takes another bite.

 

**Hair**

“Hey, Jason,” Sam says one night, “why do you have that white streak in your hair?”

Jason looks up from  _ Pride and Prejudice _ and frowns. He reaches up for the offending strands. They refused to be dyed, no matter how hard or how often he tried, so he ended up putting the oddity out of his mind. He shrugs. “I dunno. I’ve had it for a few years now. Since…” He trails off. “Well, you know.”

Sam nods, looking slightly uncomfortable. It’s only been a few days since Jason bit the bullet and revealed his past to him, and he’s still trying to treat him like glass, like talking about it anymore will break him. Part of that may be his guilt for looking him up in the first place, but it’s starting to get on Jason’s nerves.

If what he’s been through was going to break him, he would have shattered a long time ago.

“What about your hair, then?” he accuses. “Don’t think I don’t know you put conditioner in it, I’ve seen the bottle.”

That brings a smile to his face. “Dude, shut up.”

“You can’t hide from me.”

“Shut up!”

 

**Phone Call**

Sam gets a new phone, disconnects the old one. He’s tired of Bobby calling him. The man means well, he knows, but he can’t deal with his hovering right now.

He’s well aware that he’s being unfair. Bobby lost Dean too, after all. But he can’t help it.

So he answers the first one after Jason arrives, tells him he’s fine and that he’s not hunting on his own. He doesn’t give him any more information before hanging up.

And so, four months after Dean is put into the ground, he misses the single most important phone call yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, I’m not sure when the next chapter will be out, if ever. But until then, here’s a question: would anybody like to see pairings? I wasn’t really planning on it, but if a majority wants them, I’ll see what I can do.


End file.
